Of Batman, Nightwing, and Robin
by MissScorp
Summary: What's a home? It means something different to everyone. Well, for Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, and Damian Wayne, home refers to one person. Two-shot. Damian/Dick fluff, Bruce angst, family bonding.
1. Of family

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing but for the general concept of my theme and story...

* * *

He loved listening to her sing.

Not that he would ever admit it, of course.

But, as Damian Wayne watched her mop the entry hall floor from his vantage point on the stairs, he found himself coming to realize just how much he loved listening to her when she sang.

And that he most especially loved listening to her when she sang _this _song.

This hauntingly sweet, achingly sad song that seemed to fill the Manor's cavernous halls with the voices of a hundred women uplifted in synchronous harmony.

He didn't know the words of the song, nor even its title.

He didn't know what language she was singing the song in, or whether it was even a real song for that matter.

All Damian knew was that when Raya sang this song, the Manor no longer echoed with a burning silence, nor was wrapped in the arms of the cold shadows that slithered across the floors. The tangled web of memories that hung over the house were chased away by those dulcet tones. And the dark secrets hidden deep within the Manor's brick and wooden infrastructure were again locked in their cages. But he'd learned that it was not just this song, or her voice that brought about the changes in the Manor. It was _her._

In the month since his kidnapping by her father, Matthew Berkeley, Damian had come to understand that the dozens of little things that Raya said or did was what caused a change, not only in the Manor, but in the people who inhabited it as well. Now the manner in which she did things was no longer strange to him, had become more of a familiar that felt right for _her_ place within _his _family. Raya was reason and authority. She was truth and justice. She was intellect, pride, and passion. She fostered his independence and challenged his intellect, nurtured his desire to experiment with new thoughts or ideas.

She was his lookout while he stole the Red Hood mask of Jason Todd.

His alibi when he dropped a bucket of paint filled water balloons on Tim Drake.

His co-conspirator in the Manor's sudden series of cookie jar heists.

And his partner in midnight pillow wars with Dick.

In her he'd found something he'd thought he only had in Grayson: a _friend_.

And he liked having his newfound friend around.

Because whenever Raya was around the Manor became a place that was alive with hope and happiness, whose mortar seams were near to bursting with love and laughter. And it became something more than just the haunted domicile in which he resided.

It became _home._

Yup, he thought, resting his cheek against the cool railing while he listened to her sing the song he so loved. _She _made the Manor home. But the only way to keep her where she belonged was to have her come face-to-face with his father. And the only way that _that_ was ever going to happen was if _he_intervened and _made_ it happen.

But he was now asking himself one important question: how?

He didn't have a clue.

A piece of paper waved in front of his face drew him out of his pensive reverie. He looked first at the paper, and then up at the man who was holding the paper between his fingertips.

"What is this?"

"The words to what Raya's singing," Dick Grayson said before settling himself on the stair next to him. "I figured that you might like knowin' just what it is she's actually sayin'."

That Grayson had known he was curious about the lyrics of the song did not surprise Damian any. As he had come to know and understand Raya Kean, so had he come to know and understand Richard Grayson. And just like Raya, Dick just had a knack at getting _him._ He knew when he wanted to know something and was being too prideful and stubborn to just simply ask for the information. He took the paper and scanned it. And then looked at Dick with a slightly annoyed expression upon his face.

"This is in _Gaelic_, Grayson."

Dick gave him a cheeky grin. "Ya didn't drop me any hint about wanting it translated, Dami."

Damian tapped his fingers in unrestrained impatience upon his knee. And contemplated the consequences of kicking his oldest brother in the shin. Because Dick could be quite annoying in how he would not-so-subtly nudge him into asking for the information that he wanted. And realizing that he would not get his answer otherwise, he sighed and asked in a grumpy voice;

"What is it that she is saying?"

Dick tried to discern whether or not he heard a hint of a sneer in Damian's calmly asked question. Detecting nothing unusual he finally shrugged and settled more comfortably upon the stair.

"She's saying, 'to the Goddess, I do pray. To grant me power, and the strength to fight. Banish this curse, hold back the night. And with these words, fill this home with eternal light'."

Damian mulled the words over silently. He thought it interesting that she was singing an incantation rather than an actual song. But why she was chanting a spell remained unclear. And interested him. Especially since Raya, much like the rest of the family, did not openly practice any type of religious affiliation. Her choosing something so spiritual in nature was...bizarre. Interesting, he had to admit. But _bizarre_. He angled his head to look down first at Raya, and then over at Dick, an unspoken question in his eyes.

"She was intrigued by mysticism, shamanism and magic when we were teens," came the automatic and amused reply.

"Why?"

Dick cast a sidelong glance at Damian, saw the intrigued expression upon the boy's face and hid a smile.

"You'll have to ask her that, Dami. I don't actually know what intrigued Raya about magic and shamanism and mysticism."

There were lots of things Damian wanted to ask Raya, that he wanted to say to her, that he wanted to do with her, in fact. The problem was that he didn't know how. _How am I supposed to ask if she'd take me to the Museum when I can't even ask her for a freakin' glass of water_? he silently asked himself. But he wanted to learn. Desperatelyin fact. But to do that... he tilted his head against Dick's shoulder; sighed softly.

"I want her home, Grayson."

Dick was surprised by the admission. He'd known Damian's opinions about Raya had started to change the night of his kidnapping. But that he issued his request without his usual perma-sneer in place, and without that autocratic, commanding tone of his suggested that more than his baby birds opinions had been changed by what happened that night.

Emotions were alien waters to Damian Wayne. A fact which he'd lamented over after he'd become the boy's partner and guardian. But Raya had told him that understanding would come the more that they showed Damian what normative interpersonal relationships looked like. And he was changing, he realized. The more Damian was with them, that he was around them, the more that the early lessons of his mother, Talia, were being forgotten.

Which was why he draped an arm around his baby brother's shoulders and said softly; "I know, Dami. Me too."

* * *

Raya felt her lips curl when she heard the sleep-rough sound of Dick's voice. She glanced down at her watch, saw that it read 12:35. _Up at his usual time I see_, she thought fondly. She turned towards the stairs, saw that he was seated next to Damian with his arm draped comfortably around the boy's shoulders. He didn't look so serious at that moment, she thought, not with his hair still tousled, his eyes still sleepy and his face shadowed by a night's growth of stubble. What he looked was… adorable. She liked him best at these times, when his eyes and voice were soft from slumber.

He was more affectionate during this time, more prone to bantering and more susceptible to being talked into doing things that his stuffier adult side would object to once he was fully awake. But while he looked cute and fluffy now, she also knew Dick Grayson could become a grumpy grizzly if he didn't get his first cup of coffee within ten minutes of waking. She walked over and poured coffee into a mug from the carafe she'd had waiting for when he woke up. She then crossed to the stairs and slowly waved the mug back and forth in front of him.

"Coffee?"

Those blue eyes shifted, landed on her and then on the wafting cup of sweet, heavenly salvation she held in her hands. He took the mug, drank to clear the fog from his mind and voice.

"Raya," despite still being a bit blurry-eyed he managed to grab hold of her shirt and tugged her down on the stair in front of him; draped an arm comfortably around her neck. "Have I told you lately that you're my very bestest friend in the whole wide world?"

"Dick," her lips quirked at the corners. "You say that to everybody who brings you coffee."

"Not so."

"Is so."

Damian watched their interplay in silence. He liked watching them when they were together. He'd learned a lot about male to female friendship from observing them. There was a genuine affection between them, and a kind of friendship that allowed for them to say, or do anything without fear that it would cause their relationship irreparable harm.

He'd often wondered why, considering the genuine feelings between them, that they were only friends. He thought they made a perfect couple. But he'd never asked them why, figured that it was another of those questions that would receive the patented "when you're older" response. So deep was he in his thoughts that it took him a full minute to realize that Raya had spoken to him.

"What?" he only barely remembered to sneer. "Did you decide to finally include me in this little conversation you were having with Grayson?"

God he wanted to be able to show her that he cared, that he valued her as a person, as his friend. But he just couldn't risk doing-_saying_, something that would damage their fragile bond. But like she always did, Raya ignored his surly comment and simply repeated her question.

"I asked if there is anything that you would like me to make for dinner tonight."

It was not a question that he could simply shrug off or coat in his usual wall of disdain. Because it was a question that carried hundreds of yummy possibilities. His reaction was ridiculous, he knew. Pennyworth made him anything that he desired to eat. But there were things, wonderfully sinful and delectably mouth-watering things, that Raya knew how to cook that the butler did not. Like...

"Pad Thai," he announced with a nod. Then he added, his voice silky smooth; "With green tea ice cream for dessert."

Dick ruffled his hair; grinned approvingly. "Way ta think on your feet there partner."

Raya made a soft sound, between a snicker and a hmm before she snagged Dick's mug and took a small sip of the slightly bitter brew. Dick growled playfully and snatched his mug back from her.

"Mine," he said sternly. "Don't touch."

"Did Bruce somehow forget to teach you the age old lesson about sharing with others?" she asked dryly.

"Considering that Bruce doesn't share well with others," he replied as he set the mug far out of her reach. "Least of all when it comes to his first cup of morning coffee, no."

"Anyway," she said with a roll of her eyes. "I can handle making both Pad Thai and a batch of homemade green tea ice cream," she slanted a look at Damian; smiled. "But we'll have to run to the store for a few of the things that we'll need. And you know the rule about if I have to go to the store..."

Outwardly, Damian responded by rolling his eyes and snapping; "Yea, I know the rule, Kean," before he got to his feet and stomped up the stairs.

Inwardly though, it was taking every ounce of his willpower to not scream and shout as he raced down the hall. That he was excited to do something so lame and boring as grocery shopping horrified him. But the chance to have a few hours alone with her more than made up for it. Dick and Raya watched him go, silently counting how many footsteps it took for him to reach his bedroom, and waiting in bemused silence for the obligatory _slam_! of the door. Then they looked at each other and burst out laughing.

"So," Dick said in a slightly singsongy tone once they'd calmed down. "Since Damian's getting Pad Thai and ice cream tonight..."

Raya angled her head to look at him. Saw his suggestive smile. And lifted one dark eyebrow into a perfect, derisive arch. "Is this your _subtle_ way of asking me to bake you some gingerbread cookies, Dick?"

"You know me so well, Raya."

Raya smirked. "Have only spent sixteen years with you, bird boy."

Dick slid his arms beneath hers and rest his chin on top of her head. "Longest relationship I've had with any woman is with you."

"That's because I'm the only woman alive that has actually figured out how to put up with you for so long."

Dick chuckled and pressed a kiss into her hair. "Love you to, Rae."

* * *

They were snuggled together on the huge sectional in the family room late that evening. Damian had fallen asleep an hour into watching _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows-part 2_, his head resting comfortably upon Dick's stomach. Raya had joined him in slumberland not long after, her head pillowed on his shoulder, her hand on Damian's chest.

These were the moments that he lived and fought for every night that he donned whichever costume he was needed to wear. When Bruce had become trapped in the time relay of Darkseid's _Omega Sanction,_ he had been forced to step into a role that he had not thought himself properly prepared to takeover: head of the family. But with Raya there to help him, he'd learned how to navigate those uncharted waters.

The five of them-Dick, Raya, Damian, Alfred and Tim-had forged a new family out of the ashes of their old one. And while he still remained largely on the fringe, Jason had allowed himself to be brought back into the family fold as well. He credited that feat solely to the woman curled against him. He had no idea how it happened, or when. But it was clear that whatever she'd said or done had been enough to finally bring his prodigal brother home.

_Home_.

It was such a loaded word. And one that had inspired some bitter feelings between Bruce and himself. He had never felt that Gotham was truly _his_home. Not the way that it was home to Bruce, Raya, Tim. To Jason even. It was merely the place he grew up after his parents had died. And was the place in which he resided when he was not away on Titan business. When he first moved to Blüdhaven he'd thought that he found a city to call his own. Nightwing was Blüdhaven's Knight in the way Batman was Gotham's.

But he'd finally come to realize that Blüdhaven had not filled the desperate need he'd had inside him for a home. It was a gnawing ache that was only assuaged when he opened the front door of his apartment and found Raya standing there, smiling at him. And wasn't it a helluva thing, he thought now, to figure out that home wasn't about a city or a building, but people? Oh no, it was not only their baby bird that wanted Raya home, he thought, fingers lightly brushing that downy soft hair away from that forehead that was puckered even in sleep.

He wanted her home, too. Because there was no home without her. She was the sunlight that chased away his darkness, the glue that kept him together, the shield that protected him from the enemies he could not see. And as he slowly began to tumble into the silvery realm of dreams, the voices of the kids they'd been a long, long time ago drifted back, bringing bittersweet words to fill the caverns of his heart...

"_Dick, you're my very best friend."_

_"And you're mine too, Rae."_

_"We'll always be friends, won't we?"_

_"Yup, forever and always."_

He fell asleep with a smile.

* * *

It was still dark when the figure crept into the entertainment room and over to the sectional. The Manor may have been huge, but he had no trouble navigating the maze in the pre-dawn light. He looked down at the three figures curled together on the couch, eyes closed in sleep. It was a scene so familiar that the man felt his heart twist into a constrictor knot. Dick's arm was curved protectively around the woman sleeping with her head cradled on his shoulder, his hand resting atop the shoulder of his youngest brother, who was asleep with his head on the older man's stomach.

But it was the sight of _her_ hand on his youngest son's chest that yanked the strings of that knot even tighter. The emotions that surged within him at the sight of that simple, warm and affectionate gesture were raw and powerful. And very near to snapping even _his_ legendary control.

"Clark told me that I have to let you come to me," he told the sleeping girl in a hushed whisper. "That why you have not come to me before now is because you are afraid to face me. That you fear looking in my eyes and seeing hatred and blame for what happened the night you left." He sighed. "As if I could ever hate you, blame you for what that man did."

He reached out a hand, trembling with an almost desperate need to touch her, to feel for himself that she was there, that she was _real_, that she was not just some new form of torture conjured by his vindictive mind.

"Please come home," there was agony on his face, in his voice. "This house and my life have been empty without you in it."

He stood there for another minute, aching with his want, with his need to hold this girl that was like a surrogate daughter to him. Then he turned and made his way from the room as silently as he'd entered it. He did not know that his pre-dawn visit had been witnessed by his youngest son.

Feigning sleep, Damian watched his father's face as he spoke. And seeing that flash of raw vulnerability, that echo of need reaffirmed his decision to do something that would force Bruce Wayne and Raya Kean to stand face-to-face. Because not only did _he _and Dick want Raya home-but his _father_wanted her home, too. _And I am going to make sure that it happens_, the determined young superhero thought before nestling himself up against the only two people that, beyond his father and Pennyworth, meant the world to him.

* * *

_To be concluded_ in **The Long Road Home**


	2. Of Home

The rooftop of the Gotham City Police Department. It had long been known that this was James Gordon's office away from his office. It was the one place where he'd go that he could get away from the nonstop phone calls, emails, faxes, emergency meetings, and general bureaucratic crap that came with his job as Police Commissioner. He'd told her once that he tended to do his greatest detective work while out here on this roof. And when she'd asked him why that was, said only; "because I can focus upon the particulars of the case while looking out over the city I have sworn my life to protect."

But this graveled ridge did not only serve as a hideaway for the beleaguered Police Commissioner. It also served as the place where another type of meeting frequently took place. Raya shifted the files she held in her hands as she stepped over to the searchlight that was a few feet away from her and ran a manicured nail over the emblem fused to the steel casing. That iron lens had projected that ominous bat-winged shape onto the night sky for close to eighteen years now. It was a signal to the people of Gotham that they were safe, that a guardian was watching over them—that the bad guys were not going to win. Not so long as _he_ was around to protect them.

Oh, yes, she thought while resting her palm upon that cold, hard steel, the rooftop of this building had also served as the private conference room for the two unlikeliest of allies—the two unlikeliest of friends. Here was where Batman and her uncle stood together, formulating plans, discussing options or just exchanging crucial information. Here was where they tried to figure out how they could stop Gotham's criminal elite from overrunning their beloved city. And here was the spot where the two would frequently meet in order to discuss the one other thing that they shared in common: their children.

_How often did you ask him about if he'd heard from me, if he knew if I was doing well, if I was happy?_ She silently wondered. _I'm sure that it was about as often as I asked him if you were alright, if you were pushing yourself to hard, if you were sleeping._

Despite the weakness, Raya felt tears, pure emotion, gather in her eyes. And knew that her feelings were being exacerbated as much from exhaustion as well as from the deep longing that was swirling around inside her. _Ten years_, she thought bitterly. _My panic disorder has stolen ten years_. Not for the first time, Raya fought an internal battle between ending this separation between her and Bruce and the anxiety that always rose up to choke her whenever she thought of coming face-to-face with the Wayne patriarch.

Just thinking about turning on that spotlight, about calling him here, was enough to have panic and dread churning in her belly. Even as she ordered herself to breathe slow and steady, the air whistled in her lungs, clogged there until she was gulping for it. Sweat ran cold and clammy upon her feverish skin, and she could smell her own escalating fear. The edges of her vision blurred and she shot a terrified look over her shoulder, half expecting to see that dark shadow standing behind her. Her fingers clenched upon that burning emblem, seeking strength from that absent figure, and she forced herself to breathe in and out, envisioning the panic slowly start to retreat.

* * *

He remained in the shadows, silently watching her. And seeing her, so warm and vibrant in front of him, almost sliced him into a million tiny pieces. The princess, he thought, had become the queen. Oh, she'd always been one of the prettiest girls he'd ever seen. The transition from girl to woman had only added polished layers to that beauty. Her hair was still that same unruly tumble of dark curls, her face still a miracle formed of high, ice-edged cheekbones, a full, sculpted mouth, skin smooth as cream, and eyes that were green like a cats. Even though a decade had passed, each year having brought about some change-physically as well as psychologically, in them both, there was one thing that had never changed for him: his feelings for this slip of a girl.

He was struggling with separating out his personal feelings from his professional judgment right now. It had been easier to do, way back in the beginning when she'd been nothing but one of Dick's school friends. It had even been easy enough for him to separate his personal from his professional feelings when she'd simply been _Jim's niece. _But the night Raya fled her familial estate, traumatized and soaked in her mother's blood, she'd just become _his._ His because fate decreed it, and violence signed the paperwork. The girl-woman standing there in that stylish cream-colored suit that showed off long, long legs, was still _his, _in fact.

And she was in the middle of a mammoth-sized panic attack.

He couldn't stand it, couldn't stand to see her standing there, trembling with fear, her face white as a sheet, her breath a moist hiss. There was only one way he knew of to erase that hold fear had over her: make her confront it-_him, _head on. He didn't realize that he'd moved towards her until he was standing so close that the scalloped edge of his cape blew around her bare legs, like a pair of hands that were trying to pull her towards him.

"Raya," he said softly. "Look at me."

* * *

"Raya, look at me."

She heard Bruce through the bands of terror tightening around her chest, tightening around her head. Tightening, tightening. Until she thought she was going to pass out from the pain. But she drew enough strength from that low, raspy voice to batten back the panic and the dread and turn to look at that figure looming, larger than life beside her. And that look, that first look of the man in that matte-black body armor hit her harder than a fist to her solar plexus.

She stared at the winged emblem that was emblazoned upon that broad chest plate for a number of tense moments. Finally she worked up the courage to lift her head and look at those bat-like ears rising from the ebony cowl shadowing his face. But she could not bring herself to look in those eyes. Because the fear of seeing hatred and disgust within those electric blue depths was like an icy poker jabbing through her belly.

"Look at me, Raya," he coaxed gently.

"No, no. I can't. Please, _please, _don't make me."

Raya fumbled her files, almost sobbing when a few slipped through her trembling fingers. He took the folders from her and tossed them to the ground, uncaring about the photographs and paperwork that shot everywhere. She turned to flee, but he grabbed her so fast that her heart stuck fast between her chest and her throat.

She could barely manage to breathe, much less to struggle. Before full panic had a chance to again set in, she was crushed in his arms. And held fast, safe within the protective circle of him. And yet she was still too damned afraid to look into his eyes. She dropped her forehead against that broad chest, ordered herself to breathe. Bruce sighed, dropped his cheek against her hair.

"How can you believe that I would ever hate you, or blame you for what that man did?" he asked quietly.

"Because it was my fault," she whispered in a fractured voice. "I almost got Dick kill..."

"Stop." Because he wanted her to finally look at him, he cupped her chin, lifted it. "I keep waiting for you to take that step, Raya, but you won't. Face that fear, and finally look me in the eyes. Tell me about what happened that night if you need to, or tell me about how it was that you slipped out of the hospital with nobody seeing you. But tell me while looking me in the eyes."

She stared at a point over his left shoulder, said; "Don't you understand that I can't?"

"I never took the Fenix to be a coward."

Her head snapped up at the quiet challenge that was in his voice. Even as panic clawed into her throat she slapped it back with a slash of temper. But the blistering retort she'd intended to give died as soon as she looked into those regimental eyes. There was none of the hate, anger and disgust that she'd convinced herself that she'd see shimmering in those dark depths. There was no blame, no silent accusations, no disappointment.

All she saw was stark pride intermixed with a quiet sorrow.

And both were being overshadowed by _love_.

There was grief and a heavy dose of regret in her heart for how much of a fool she'd been. Bruce traced a finger over her cheek, smiled and said;

"Hello, imp."

The dam broke.

Bruce enfolded her in his arms, just as he'd done thirteen years before, and let her weep for the grievous amount of years that they'd lost.

* * *

The small figure crouched on a narrow ledge, the edge of his cape billowing around him while he watched the reunion that was occurring on the roof of the GCPD building. A smirk ghosted his lips and he gave a slight nod of his hooded head when he saw his father envelop Raya within his arms. He was satisfied with the ending that his careful manipulation had procured, counted it worth the lecture that he would receive once both adults took a moment to think over just how their chance meeting had come about. _She's home where she belongs though, _he thought. _And home is where she is going to remain if _I_ have anything to say about it._


End file.
